The Unravelled Past
by Blue-eyes Lily
Summary: Their future unwound, their past unravelled, their time brief but shared. Rated K for now, but we'll see how it continues... rating could go up.
1. A memory

**Author's Note: So, this has fanfic been haunting me forever: I wrote this chapter ages ago, and then kind of forgot what I wanted to write about, but every now and again I would open it, write a few sentences, delete them, and not look at it for a month. But recently, I seem to have contracted the Layton bug again, and the creative juices have been finally flowing again. I only have the first two chapters yet, though, so uploading could be slow. **  
**I'm not quite sure where this fanfiction is going to go yet, but if it is well received I'll definitely continue and think of something as I plod along (my process is so wonderfully organized!) **  
**I hope you enjoy this story! And please, if you did or didn't, review and let me know what you and tips will be greatly appreciated! **  
**Love, **  
**Blue-eyes Thropp**

**Summary: Their future unwound, their past unravelled, their time brief but shared. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my ideas. All rights go to the creators of Professor Layton (bless those wondeful people!) **

Chapter 1: A Memory

Setting his teacup back into its saucer, Hershel chuckled to himself. Countless letters and telegrams from his former, blue-clad apprentice already belonged to the organized disarray on his desk, and he added this one very ceremoniously to the pile. Before him sat a typewriter, the majestic centerpiece of the cluttered table, a half finished protocol of his latest investigations peeking impatiently out from the top. A row of diplomas, awards, news clippings- oh, all sorts of reminders of investigations and accomplishments passed- lined the wall above him (he was not a self-centered man and would hate for one to render him such, but he did like to remind himself, say, during a dry spell, that he was an accomplished man- gentleman). Several clocks and watches were in his possession, but his favourite one, an ornate pocket watch, too valuable to be removed from the safety of his house, lay beside his typewriter and never would tell you the time even a second off, as though it knew it was too esteemed, as far as clocks go, to ever dare do such a thing of impertinence.

One more piece had been on this desk for the longest of time, and never had Hershel even so much thought of moving it to a different place. It was a faded photograph of him, donning his old, vibrant orange flat cap, next to a lady; a lady who was, to Hershel, more radiant than any star in the heavens. Her light brown hair, tinged with copper, flattered her face, falling in waves around her well built shoulders, which highly contrasted her slight form. Claire Folley, former flame of Hershel Layton's. It was her who Hershel had grieved for these past years.

Claire had been lost in a tragic explosion, some ten years back. A scientific experiment, performed by Dimitri Allen and Bill Hawks, to whom she acted as lab partner, though she was by all means a capable scientist herself. It had been a time machine, well, an attempted time machine. Claire had been the first human to attempt time travel, though not by free will, but as a scientist fulfilling a duty. Suffice to say the machine malfunctioned, and in the subsequent explosion, Claire had been lost forever. Hershel hadn't even seen her after the accident. He had never said farewell to his beloved Claire.

So the picture sat there, where she had put it, never moving. Hershel took a further sip of tea and inhaled deeply. No, he did not wish to think of Claire right now. Absent mindedly, his left hand moved to his head on which his old top hat was jauntily placed there. It, too, never moved from his rightful position. Hershel tipped the brim slightly forwards onto his forehead, leaned back and closed his eyes. Trying to banish the thought of Claire from his mind had had the counteractive effect, as now the thought was more prominent and painful than ever. So, instead, he took the opposite approach…


	2. The Concept of Time

**Author's Note: So, here you go, chapter 2 of The Unravelled Past. I was very nervous about introducing Claire, but I'm happy with her now, finally. Enjoy, and pretty, pretty please review. Reviews are love :-)  
-Blue-eyes xxx**

Chapter 2: The Concept of Time

It was a bright day for autumn, the sunbeams managing to fight their way through the cloud coverage of the past few days. The rain from the night before had left a spicy scent in the air, and as he walked to the university, Hershel Layton let it enter his nostrils and fill him with delight. He adored that post-rain smell.

Gressenheller University was but a short bus-ride away, but Hershel had awoken early that morning and had decided to undertake the journey on foot. He dodged a rather large puddle, not wanting to dirty his new shoes and black pants. He had dressed finely that morning, in his new trousers, shoes, waistcoat and hat, which had all been birthday gifts from his mother and father. Both the hat and the waistcoat were of a striking orange, complimenting his blue eyes and light brown hair beautifully. The pants and shoes were classical black. He had teamed his new garments with a shirt and scarf. He felt like a perfect gentleman in said attire.

Some grimy water did, however, splash onto his trousers. Perhaps he should have taken the bus.

Hershel was not usually such an early riser, and he often found himself running to the bus stop in the mornings, only just catching the last bus, and arriving at Gressenheller out of breath and disheveled. He was not a lazy man, but he was nevertheless a student, and, regardless of his maturity, he, like every other student, needed his sleep. But today had been altogether different: His sleep had been interrupted by a pair of incredibly loud crows outside his windows and he had rolled out of bed at about half past five. Unlike other mornings, however, he had not felt groggy and tired, but fresh and revived, and he had made his morning coffee with the largest smile on his face and had taken his time ironing his clothes and arranging his hair. Something inside him- call it intuition- told him that today was not likely to be a day like any other.

Gressenheller University was a majestic piece of architecture, dating some hundred years back. The name Gressenheller was derived from the architect's name, Friedrich Gressenheller, a German who had designed many buildings world round, mostly Universities and Cathedrals and the likes of such. Gressenheller University had been deemed his grandest work several times, and indeed it was very grand. It was a large building, with many staircases, passages and hallways, and it was not difficult to get very lost in it. The front of the university was build of red and brown brick, and the roof was of a brilliant turquoise stone. Round the back of the building lay a large courtyard, although this did not date back to Friedrich Gressenheller's time, and it was there that Hershel Layton seated himself upon a bench and began to unwrap a sandwich. Only very few people were already on campus, most of them leafing through notes or, like him, relaxing in the courtyard before their first class of the morning.

As he gazed into the skies, thinking, for once, of nothing in particular, Paul Donato passed Hershel. The young man of Italian descent with unfashionable hairdo and Hershel were on good terms, although Paul was several years older than Hershel. They had never been friends, as such, but they greeted each other in the halls, and had found that they shared at least two mutual friends.

Layton tipped his hat slightly as the fellow archaeology student passed him.

"'Morning, Paul." He said, cheerfully.

"Layton!" he said, surprised at the greeting- Paul had the sometimes rather irritating habit of addressing people by their surnames, "you're early!"

It was true. Whereas Paul and Layton's friend, Clark, were always punctual and organized, Hershel generally arrived in the nick of time, books tumbling out of his books and arms, mostly still eating toast or an apple or whatever his hasty breakfast had been that morning.

"I'm all grown up now!" Hershel joked, throwing his arms into the air. He wished Paul a nice day, and tipped his hat again.

"Hardly," Paul complained before he walked off, "I have a Hartman lecture to attend."

"In that case, I wish you a pleasant time planning your imminent demise."

Paul snorted and nodded his head.

"Ciao, Layton!"

With that, Layton returned to his sandwich. Putting the last crust in his mouth, he gently wiped the corners of his lips with a thumb, and then reached into his pocket to check the time. Hershel was the proud owner of an ornate pocket watch, dating back almost a hundred years ago. He had recently developed a partiality to watches-fixing them, polishing them, setting them- and this had been his first one. It had all started when he was contemplating the nature and passage of time: how was time defined? Who defined time? Does time run linear or parallel? It was then that he had begun to marvel at the concept of time dictating people's lives-when, really, time was made by people, wasn't it?-and the little metal contraptions that kept time running.

Struck with a sudden thought, Hershel dug into his satchel for a crumpled sheet of paper and a pen. He unfolded the paper on his knees and began to sketch four people, each wearing a different kind of watch. He scribbled a number in the top, right hand corner, and then began to jot down several calculations all over the page, crossing them out and restarting, again and again.

"Excuse me?"

Hershel's head snapped p from his work. He had been so engrossed in his work that he had not noticed the young woman who had crept up behind him. She was tall, but not unwomanly so, with a pretty, round face and doe like eyes. Her hair was of a soft brown, tinged with copper and fell to her collarbone in soft curls. A pair of thinly rimmed glasses balanced on her nose, and she was wearing a green dress that fell to her knees, covered by a jeans jacket. Her smile was friendly as she began to talk to him, and her cheeks reddened slightly.

"I'm so sorry to bother, it's just… I wanted to know the time."

Hershel was momentarily taken aback, but then, remembering his manners, proceeded to pull his pocket watch out again. He flicked it open and said, "It's a quarter to eight."

"Oh, I'm much to early!" the woman cried, "Would you mind terribly if I sit down here? "

"No, no, of course not. Please…" Hershel pulled hit satchel over onto his lap to make room for the woman.

"I'm Claire," she said, offering him her hand, which he shook, "Claire Folley. I'm actually waiting for Professor Denbora. Do you know him?"

"I do. I believe he teaches physics, no? My name is Hershel, by the way."

There was a moment's silence, in which neither of the two was quite sure of what to say. Hershel was not one for extensive conversation, especially not with women. He returned to his sketch and his calculation. Presently, he felt that Claire was peering over at him, and he lifted his eyes to meet hers.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I was staring, wasn't I?"

"No, it's fine. I was… I was just working on a puzzle." Hershel said, offering the scrap of paper to Claire so that she might read what was on it.

"I don't believe I understand it," she said, after scanning the paper.

"It's not finished yet," Hershel smiled, as he took back the sheet and continued calculating, "my idea was: four men all think it's a different time. No one knows what time it is. The object of the puzzle is to find out."

Claire thought for a second.

"But the real question would be; what time is it?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, if all four men think it's a different time, that what time is it really? And then, is one man living in the future and the other in the past, or are they all living in the same time? If it's four o'clock for one man and five for the other, has one gained an hour, has one lost an hour, or do they meet in the middle? Is it the thought that counts or that which we are told is reality?"

Hershel looked at Claire, dumbstruck. Suddenly, the pretty woman began to laugh.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I get carried away sometimes!"

"That's quite alright."

Again, they said nothing for several seconds. This time, Hershel broke the silence.

"I don't believe I've seen you at Gressenheller before. Are you thinking of taking courses with Denbora?"

"Not quite. I studied in the North, but I came down here for a job. Have you heard of the London Institute of Polydimensional Research?"

"So you're a scientist?" Hershel asked, quite amazed that this young woman, who he guessed was at least a year his junior, was already a fully fledged scientist.

"Not yet. I was planning on completing a doctorate, but a..." she paused for a second, calculating something in her head, "friend of a friend of my aunt's- or something like that- needed an assistant physicist for a project he's working on. Denbora is part of the project, so he invited me here for an unofficial interview."

Hershel nodded in appreciation. As the continued talking, he produced a fresh sheet of paper from his satchel and began to sketch a neater version of his puzzle on it.

"Are you studying here?" Claire asked him, lifting her feet up onto the bench and tucking her legs underneath her so as to be completely vis-à-vis with him.

"Archaeology," Hershel answered, not looking up from his sketch, "I'm in the process of completing my doctoral degree."

"At the risk of sounding unbelievably rude… how old are you?" Claire asked cautiously.

"Twenty-six," Hershel chuckled, "and I doubt you could be rude if you tried. I was able to bypass the sixth year of primary education."

Claire was about to reply, when a plump, slightly elderly man with a prominent chin and forehead and boggling eyes came trotting towards them on short legs. His appearance was all too comical, but one would never have dare laugh at him, for he was widely regarded as the most prestigious Doctor of Physics in the United Kingdom.

Professor Doctor Denbora stopped in front of Claire and offered her his hand to shake.

"You must be Miss Folley. Do come, there is much to discuss and I'm afraid I am pressured for time."

Hershel pretended not to notice, never averting his gaze from the riddle he was sketching, so he did not see that, as Claire was being lead away by the professor, she turned around and waved to him. However, before she had reached to far a distance, Hershel lifted his head and called, "Claire! Wait!"

Puzzle in hand, he wiped brushed his things from his lap and sprung up. Claire halted turned around, and watched him run towards her, on hand still clutching the scrap of paper, the other holding on to his cap to prevent it from falling. When he reached her, he grabbed her hand and stuffed the puzzle into it.

"It's finished," he whispered, "try it! And god luck!"

With that, he turned back around at trotted back to the bench. Claire watched as he gathered his belongings, a smile on her face, her fingers tightening around the sheet of paper he had given her.


End file.
